


Pulling the Trigger

by susies_fandom_wonders



Series: Under the Mask [17]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Child Death, Gen, Suicide, also mentioned that both hersh and des kill themselves, alternative title: what would happen if des and hersh died in the cells of targent?, and then swift feels bad and kills himself, but not before taking bronev down with him, executions, liv and vi are executed that's what happens, owl is angry and worried, utm au, utm bad end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 10:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17527265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susies_fandom_wonders/pseuds/susies_fandom_wonders
Summary: Swift reflects on what he had to do an hour previous to reporting to Bronev.He can still hear Violet's pleas; Olivia's quiet, broken humming.





	Pulling the Trigger

The air was thick and suffocating in Swift’s office. The man stared out the window, gun clasped loosely in a surprisingly steady hand, blank eyes looking beyond the smoky sky. He was still – so, so still – the only sign of life coming from his was the almost invisible rise and fall of his chest.

He could still hear the Sycamore girl’s cries, her mother brushing her hair out of her face and telling her that everything would be okay in a shaky, watery voice before they were separated. The girl’s dark eyes had fallen onto Swift, and she’d pleaded to him as an agent forced her to her knees, placed the polished barrel of a pistol against her head as she trembled and sobbed for anyone, _anyone_ (“Papa, Grandpapa – _please_ –”) to help her.

Swift had only watched as the gun had fired, blood and brain matter splattering onto the ground as Violet’s body jerked, then slumped over, blood trailing down her face and into her lifeless eyes, mixing with the tear tracks running down her face. Olivia had let out a soft, strangled sound, and the agents let her kneel next to her daughter, letting out something between a laugh and a sob as she laid Violet’s head in her lap, wiping and smearing blood over her face in a vain attempt to clear it from her, shaky fingertips closing her eyes. The blood had soaked into Olivia’s pants, saturated her hands with crimson from the hole in her daughter’s head. She looked up at Swift, lips trembling as she gave a gentle smile (despite everything, despite fucking _everything_ , Olivia was still so kind, so, so gentle – she didn’t deserve this, this family didn’t deserve the hell they were being put through).

“Will you make sure we’re buried together?” She asked, voice incredibly soft – her final request. Swift’s eyes burned with tears, throat closing up. All he could do was nod. Olivia looked back down at her daughter, hands trembling. “…Thank you.”

He had stepped forward, then – knelt in front of Olivia and Violet, not caring about the blood (still warm) soaking into his uniform, hot tears trailing down his face. Olivia looked up at him, eyes squinted from her own tears.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was choked.

“If you feel this remorseful, it wasn’t ever your fault.” She reached, a shaky, blood-stained hand wiping a tear from Swift’s face. “Now, please. I don’t wish to keep my family waiting any longer than I have to.”

Swift swallowed thickly, then nodded, slowly rising to his feet, looking to the guard who had shot Violet and sharing the same expression through their dark sunglasses. He motioned for the guard to step away, and he took his place, pulling his own gun from his holster with a trembling hand and placing it against Olivia’s temple. The woman didn’t even flinch, instead looking down at Violet, stroking her blood-matted hair and humming a soft, quiet tune in a broken voice.

Much like her daughter, Olivia’s body jerked before slumping down and to the side, her blood dripping from her chin and onto Violet’s hair and forehead. Swift closed his eyes, sucking in a long breath as he put his gun away, feeling the motions as if they weren’t his own, far away and automatic.

Swift heard the door to his office open – he didn’t look away from the window. Quick footsteps made their way over to him, and Owl was there, shouting at him and shaking his shoulders, face twisted into anger and sorrow and a sort of desperation he had never seen from her before.

He couldn’t even process what she was saying. He continued to stare at something only he could see, thumb absentmindedly stroking his gun as Owl continued to yell at him, asking a question – he didn’t understand, he _couldn’t_ understand; the Sycamores’ final moments weighed heavily on his mind (he had watched the footage of that other professor stabbing himself with his own pencil, choking on his own blood and bleeding out – Sycamore had launched himself at Sparrow, grabbing his gun with a speed too quick for someone who had been tortured, electrocuted – and placed the gun under his chin, shooting himself before anyone had the chance to react).

Swift’s head snapped to the side. Owl’s hand was still raised, the anger in her expression being replaced with fear and concern the longer Swift didn’t react, didn’t answer. She cupped his face, wiping tears from his face.

“…Swift?” She finally asked when she noticed that his gaze lingered on her, voice soft. His old scar tingled from the force of her slap, cheek burning. “Swift, are you alright?”

“Of course.” His voice was flat, monotonous. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Owl’s eyebrows cinched together. “I was there when they died. I fucking _shot_ one of them, Owl.” His tears were rolling faster down his face, voice slowly gaining pitch. “I didn’t want them to die. I don’t want anyone to die, and yet it continues to happen. It’s out of my fucking control, Owl – I can’t fucking _do_ anything about it.” His voice cracked, then broke, and he was openly sobbing. “I can’t fucking do anything – I feel so goddamned _trapped_ –”

“Swift –”

“She still _forgave_ me.” He shouted. “She still _forgave_ me, and her daughter was fucking dead in her arms.” He shot to his feet, pulling away from Owl and clawing at his arms, nails scraping against the sleeves of his uniform. She reached out an arm, a weak attempt to reach out to him – she was beginning to cry as well, seemingly unnoticed.

“Please,” she whispered – what she was pleading for, Swift wasn’t sure. He shook his head regardless, rubbing his eyes violently with the sleeve of his uniform. There was only one way to end this.

“I need to go report to the boss.” He grabbed his gun, almost forgotten, from his desk, clearing his throat to try and keep the hoarseness from his voice. “Take care of Fluffy for me.”

“Wh –” Swift gave a smile – Owl paled. “Swift –”

Swift had already moved out of his office before Owl had finished saying his name.

* * *

“They are disposed of.” Bronev nodded, mouth pressed into a thin line as he flipped through pages of archaeologists, not yet part of Targent. Swift took in a deep breath, hand reaching for the gun on his hip.

“You are dismissed, Swift.” _He didn’t even care_. In one quick, smooth movement, Swift had removed the gun from his holster and pointed it at Bronev’s head, tightening his jaw as he pulled the trigger. The leader of Targent’s head snapped back, blood blooming from his head and soaking into his silvery hair. Swift stared at him for a moment, then quickly turned the gun on himself, pressing the muzzle under his chin and continuing to stare at the corpse of someone he had once feared so much.

The door to Bronev’s office opened. Swift closed his eyes, then pulled the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> Wondering what's going on?
> 
> Visit the blog for this AU [here](https://pl-utm-au.tumblr.com/).


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